


Prison Break Azkaban

by normalizegators



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caper Fic, Gen, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 16:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12324651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/normalizegators/pseuds/normalizegators
Summary: The route to competent adulthood doesn't often involve breaking your childhood nemesis out of an impenetrable prison on a wild hunch. But Marauders never take the easy way.





	Prison Break Azkaban

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry made an uneasy noise as Remus shifted the baby's weight entirely onto one arm, freeing the other to grab Sirius by his stupid band name t-shirt. "Sirius, _why are you leaving Harry with me?!_ "
> 
> "Because," Sirius said, baldly, "I'm going to break Snape out of Azkaban."

The first thing Snape realizes is this: he's comfortable. It's suspicious.

The prisoner pallets at Azkaban are little more than scraps of cloth stretched over an unforgiving metal frame. The cells are damp and perennially cold. Noisy, too, between the wail of ocean winds and the shrieks of the condemned. All familiar stimuli. But now he’s somewhere soft, dry, warm, and quiet.

It takes effort to open his eyes. Focusing is even harder. But after a few minutes, he's managed it. This is what he sees:

He's in a bedroom, he thinks. A bed, anyway. The mattress is soft, and there’s a gaudy duvet tucked up to his chin. The room is well-lit and warm, nothing like his Azkaban cell. (Hideously decorated, he thinks, distantly disapproving of the Muggle rock band posters on the walls.) There's a fireplace, too, with a crackling fire. There are two armchairs next to it. One is occupied.

Snape knows the figure curled up in one of those chairs, reading. How does he know him? Young, tall, thin. Scars. A too-careful look of gentle self-composure. Abruptly he places him, but it only leaves him more confused: why is Dumbledore's pet werewolf here?

Before he has time to work this through his foggy mind, someone else has entered the room. Snape tenses automatically. There's a wail accompanying it, which is familiar - except it isn't, because Snape realizes, puzzled, that it's the wail of a child, not a prisoner. That must be the lump that the new figure is carrying. They’re speaking, though it takes him a few seconds to follow the words:

"-- seen Harry's stuffed owl, Moony? He won't stop asking for it." Snape knows that voice. Snape could never forget that horrible voice. That's _Sirius Black's_ voice. But why are Remus Lupin and Sirius Black here, in this confusing, comfortable room?

"I expect it's under the sofa, where he keeps kicking it," Lupin is saying, "but let me help you loo -- oh!"

Lupin is looking at Snape: he must have seen that Snape was staring at him. The werewolf is saying something, but Snape doesn't hear it. He is, to his great relief, sinking back into the fog.

 

*****

It's Remus who raises the topic, a few weeks later.

Snape is slouched in the armchair by the fireplace, buried in a nest of Sirius's hideous blankets. He is sallow and wan, his hair a limp mess, but this is so little change from the Snape of their boyhood that Remus expects it's nothing to worry about. He’s glowering at Sirius, sprawled below on the rug with Harry. They're playing with a set of color-changing blocks. Remus finds the unwarranted hostility oddly cheering: a Snape who remembers himself enough to be consistently unpleasant is a marked improvement on the blank-faced wretch he'd been when they found him.

It takes three throat clearings to get Snape's attention to snap away from Sirius. Remus squashes down the standard guilty discomfort when the glower turns to him, and forces on a pleasant smile. It doesn't help.

"I suppose you must have some questions, now that you're feeling better. Why you're here, for starters," Remus says.

A silence drags out, interrupted only by the clatter of the blocks and Harry's oblivious toddler burbling. Snape stares. Remus reminds himself to be charitable. Even an entirely reasonable person would find this all a lot to handle, and this is _Snape_.

Sirius, as usual, lacks any patience. “If you’re going to tell the story, Moony, just tell it. Listen up, you intolerable git—"

 

*****

Sirius stepped back to gaze at his handiwork, head cocked to the side. Yes. Yes, he was _certain_ he was right. For the first time since that horrible night, he felt the old familiar rush of excitement go through him. His mind raced at the thought of the task before him, contemplating the challenges it posed. It sounded like a lark. It’d been _so long_ since he’d last had some excitement.

His elation was undercut, slightly, when Harry—tottering around Sirius’s ankles—reached up with a frustrated noise. Sirius frowned, scooping the baby up and holding him aloft. Baby and man stared at each other.

“The one problem,” said Sirius, thoughtful, “is what I do with _you_.”

“Bloo,” replied Harry, agreeably.  

 

*****

Remus interrupts him. “ _That’s_ how you’re going to start telling the story?” Sirius tries not to feel hurt, but gives in fully to the sentiment when it’s followed by: “You’re making yourself sound ridiculous, you realize.”

“I’m beginning at the beginning,” retorts Sirius, stung.

“That is _objectively_ false,” replies Remus. “Why are you so rubbish at this?”

“ _You’re_ rubbish,” grumbles Sirius, rolling over onto his back with a dramatic huff. Harry, delighted, leaves off playing with the blocks and promptly starts clambering up onto his godfather’s chest. Sirius dodges getting a toddler fist to the face as he adds, “Fine, if you’re going to be snippy about it. _You_ tell it.”

“I think that’s for the best,” says Remus, with dignity.

 

*****

For Remus the story began a few days after Christmas, with an invitation in the mail. 

'Invitation' was a strong word for it. It was in fact a Muggle postcard of an enormous black dog sitting on a surfboard, wearing sunglasses. Bold rainbow text declared it to be 'COOL TO THE MAX'. Remus had been there when James had goaded Sirius into purchasing two boxes' worth. The signature on the back was purely gratuitous. He knew exactly who it was from.  

 

MOONY:

Come by my place on Sunday. Any time good. Reason too long to explain here. I'll feed you.

\- PADFOOT

P.S. don't wear anything nice.

P.P.S. especially scarves. Don't bring a scarf.

 

A corner looked like it had been gnawed on. Remus had spent some thoroughly disconcerted minutes gazing at it.

Sirius Black, last survivor of Remus Lupin's childhood friends. ( _Your only friends_ , his mind helpfully inserted.) Remus hadn't seen him since the funeral almost two months prior. They hadn't even written. Remus had picked up a quill to try, a few times, but once he passed the opening pleasantries he'd inevitably stumbled. _Hello, how are you, so now that you know I wasn't a traitor…_

Sirius had seemed terribly preoccupied when they buried James and Lily. Remus vividly recalled the vice-grip of a hug Sirius gave him when he'd first arrived at the chapel. It had been the first time they’d seen each other in a month. Remus had half-dreaded seeing him, now that he knew what the last half-year’s strange looks had been about. But Sirius had held him for a long time, both of them shaking. Remus would have forgiven him in an instant--

\--except that, after that, he'd barely looked Remus in the eye. Like he was a checked-off formality. Remus had worried at the memory like a bad tooth, until he’d finally made some sense of it. They'd both lost so much in the last year. Perhaps his boyhood friend was merely thinking what Remus was thinking, that it would be better to rip off the plaster and be done with it. They had so little left to bind them together.

And yet, just as he’d resigned himself to filing Sirius in 'Friendships, Past': the postcard. Remus stared at it in resentment. But he supposed he owed it to Sirius to go.

 

*****

Sunday afternoon found him knocking on the door to Sirius's flat. Remus toyed with the fraying sleeve of his jacket, feeling distinctly out-of-place. 

A minute passed with no answer but the sound of hasty movement within. Remus thought he could hear a scurry of fast, clumsy footsteps on the other side of the door, and he thought back to the gnawed-upon postcard with growing dread. Had Sirius gotten a puppy? Was that what this was about? Sirius _knew_ Remus wasn't good with animals!

Remus had just lifted his hand to try again with the old boyhood secret Marauders knock (two knocks with the fist, a knock with the elbow, and a tattoo with the fingers) when Sirius flung the door open, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him in.

"Moony! There you are. Good timing!"

For a startled moment, Remus felt like he’d had an accident with a time turner. Sirius had always been one to bodily haul his friends around, usually with a slightly manic grin—yes, there it was, same as ever—that usually boded trouble. Sirius’s flat was familiarly messy (though surprisingly short on visible pictures of scantily-clad girls.) And Sirius himself looked better than he had in - in a few years, come to think of it.

On the other hand, the Sirius of old did not have a baby gate in his flat. The small lump Remus half tripped on was not an abandoned sock but a tiny shoe. Also, and it occurred to Remus that this was perhaps the most important detail, _Sirius was holding a baby_.

"Sirius, I…" Remus squinted down at the baby. Toddler? Remus wasn't familiar with judging infant ages. Black hair, green eyes, oddly familiar.

Increasingly incredulous, Remus said, "Sirius, is that _Harry_?"

"Oh," said Sirius, casually. "Did I forget to tell you? I'm his guardian now. Say hi, Harry."

Harry did not say hi. The child was nestled tightly against Sirius, a fat little fist bunching up the fabric of his godfather’s t-shirt. (Remus vaguely wondered whether 'Witchfinder General' was a band name or a sex joke that he didn't get.) There was a jagged scar half-hidden by messy hair. Harry eyed Remus suspiciously. Remus felt this was fair.

"Not that I'm not happy to see him--" began Remus, feeling terribly self-conscious ( _the last time I saw him he was practically still a pinkish potato, is this normal? He's still staring at me, do I smile? Would that be creepy? I wonder if that scar still hurts him…_ ) "--but I thought I heard at the funeral that Dumbledore had placed him with Lily's family-"

"Just until we got everything sorted out!" said Sirius. " _I'm_ his godfather, Lily and James' will left him with me. And honestly, Moony: have you ever met Lily's sister? Nasty bird. Nothing like Lily. Preferred her own nasty little brat to Harry, you could already tell she'll be a rotten mother."

The growl in his friend's voice was foreboding. Remus bit his tongue and the question on the tip of it--why would Dumbledore have placed Harry with Lily's family if the will said Sirius was to take care of him?--and fumbled for something else to say.

The silence must have dragged on longer than Sirius cared for. Remus's thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt bark of "Here."

Before Remus could process the situation enough to protest, he abruptly found himself with an armful of small, squirmy child. Harry looked entirely dubious about this new arrangement, gurgling ominously. Remus heartily agreed with him. "Sirius, you _know_ I don't know anything about children," he protested, helplessly. "Are you sure this is a good idea _?" Do you remember that I'm a **werewolf**?! We haven't any business being near children! _

Remus didn't recall saying the last bit out loud, but it must have been obvious on his face, because Sirius gave a laugh. "Moony," and the tone of his voice was reminiscent of the Sirius of his boyhood, mocking some logistical objection Remus had raised to planting two dozen billywigs in the fourth floor girls’ bathroom, "I'm more worried about you _dropping_ him than you _biting_ him; it's a fortnight 'til the full moon." A pause. "And even if you drop him - well, I shouldn't admit it, but I've done it a few times. He's _wiggly_." Sirius waved a hand, vaguely. "It's fine, he's been right as rain afterward."

Sirius kept talking as he stepped over the baby gate and headed into the flat's sitting room. Remus trailed after him, thoroughly nonplussed. "He's a great kid. Bit moist, maybe. Little grabby. That's why I told you not to bring a scarf, he pulls them apart, it's like he's a cat… Andromeda--you remember my cousin Andromeda, right?--helped me out a lot at the start, but I'm getting the hang of it. And I got a Betamax-”

Bewildered, Remus asked, “A betawhat?”

“It’s a Muggle thing that lets you play movies  - clever, innit? A centaur told me once that they’re _ill-starred_ , but I can’t say I trust a literal horse person for opinions on Muggle artefacts.” Sirius did not explain why he had been speaking to a centaur in the first place, much less how the topic had possibly come up. Remus suspected he didn’t want to know. “Anyway, Harry'll sit and watch whatever you put on, it works great. You’ll be just fine with him. I'll have Andromeda stop by occasionally just in case. You were always great with the first years and the principle's the same -"

Remus interrupted. "I'm sorry, Sirius. What?"

Sirius winced minutely. And then, blithely, said, "I need you to look after him for a few days. No more than a week, I don't think. I know that shithole you live in isn't exactly baby-proofed, but that's fine. You can stay here. I don't know why you even live in that dump. I suppose it has a certain _bohemian charm_ , but still. It's full of rats, Moony."

_I'm barely making rent on that rat-infested shithole_ , Remus shrieked internally. And then his brain processed the rest of Sirius's statement. He could feel the blood rushing to his ears.

" _What_?"

"A fortnight at most," Sirius amended.

Harry made an uneasy noise as Remus shifted the baby's weight entirely onto one arm, freeing the other to grab Sirius by his stupid band name t-shirt. "Sirius, _why are you leaving Harry with me?!_ "

"Because," Sirius said, baldly, "I'm going to break Snape out of Azkaban."

 

*****

Sirius interjects at this point. "I don't remember being that rude to you. Remus, you're making me sound like a lunatic." Harry is scaling his shoulders determinedly, and Sirius has obligingly contorted himself as low to the ground as he can without taking his watchful gaze off Snape and Remus.

"Am I?" says Remus, drily. "I haven't even gotten to the bulletin board yet." 

 

*****

When he considers it later (much later), Remus decides that, but for the physical weight of Harry in his arms, he probably would have just left. He's not proud of it.

But it was hard to turn on a heel while holding someone else's squirming small child. Harry was bunching Remus's shirt in his chubby little baby fists, tugging hard enough to hurt. Unconsciously, Remus found himself concentrating on the weight in his arms and the uncomfortable dig of his collar against his neck until the ringing in his ears faded. He was annoyed, but not entirely surprised, to find that Sirius had continued to talk, evidently oblivious.

"-  all around terrible, but there are so many worse people walking free, and _they_ -"    

"I'm sorry, Sirius," said Remus, sounding strained even to himself. Without asking permission, he sank down onto Sirius's hideous leather abomination of a sofa, gently prising Harry's fists free from his shirt and settling the baby onto his lap. "But I didn't catch what you just said. Could you start from the top?"

Sirius looked bewildered—Remus bit back a sigh--but begrudgingly sat down and started over. "You heard the details of what happened to James and Lily, I assume." He said it with exaggerated flatness; Remus suppressed the urge to be angry over that.

Quietly, Remus replied, "I was undercover at the time." Did Sirius wince? He couldn't tell for sure. "But Dumbledore told me about what had happened. And who… caused it." And that was _definitely_ a wince, there. Remus doubted his own expression was much happier.

A long moment passed. Finally, with uncharacteristic quiet, Sirius asked, "Did he tell you I found the bodies? And Harry, in the rubble." Remus watched as his friend’s hands, usually full of frenetic energy, went very, very still, and white at the knuckles.

Remus only realized he'd reflexively tightened his grip on the baby when Harry squirmed. "He said you were there, but I hadn't realized…" He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. The funeral had been closed-casket. It suddenly occurred to Remus how grateful he was that his last memories of James and Lily would be of them alive. "Oh, Sirius."

James had been Remus's closest friend and best support, and the loss of him was a stinging ache that Remus couldn't often bear to let himself examine. But neither he nor Pet-- _anyone else_ \--could miss that James and Sirius were even closer. "Oh, Sirius," he said, again. "I'm so sorry."

"It's . . . Well, it's _not_ fine, of course it bloody well isn't fine." Sirius took a breath. Remus tried to ignore how ragged it sounded. "But if you know what happened, then Moony, you _must_ know why I need to get Snape out of Azkaban."

Remus bit back a reflexive retort--what did the one thing possibly have to do with the other?-- and carefully thought about it. Dumbledore's explanation of the events leading up to and on Halloween night had been terse and to the point. Remus had known that the Potters were being targeted by Voldemort; indeed, the final time he'd seen them was at the Order meeting where Dumbledore had told them. The decision had been made for them to go into hiding, protected by the Fidelius Charm.

Remus had assumed--everyone has assumed--that the Secret Keeper was Sirius: he still vividly remembered the chasm of betrayal he had felt when Dumbledore told him that James and Lily were dead. For the Potters to be dead, the Fidelius Charm must have been broken. And for the Fidelius Charm to be broken…

His visceral horror had not been wrong so much as misaimed. Dumbledore had learned that the Secret Keeper was not Sirius, but Peter. And Peter had been a traitor.

_"Had?" Remus had asked, as Dumbledore explained. Even in his bewildered fog, he could not help but pick up on the pointed past tense._

_"Pettigrew is dead," Dumbledore had replied, in a tone that brooked no questions._

Remus gazed down at Harry, frowning. The baby stared back at him, big green eyes below his jagged scar. "I know Snape was on Voldemort's side," he started, uncertainly. "He's in Azkaban for killing a dozen Muggles and a wizard, if I remember the papers right." Remus's thoughts slid to a halt. Though the Daily Prophet had run several front-page stories on the incident, it abruptly occurred to Remus that the magical victim had never been named. Why had they never been named?

A sudden suspicion dawned. Remus looked up from the baby and furrowed his brow at Sirius. "Sirius, _who killed Peter_?"

"Snape did." Sirius's expression was an odd blend of anger, grief, and jealousy intertwined. "He was always odd about Lily, don't you remember? I suppose he wanted to avenge her." He fell silent for a moment, then growled, "I went looking for Peter too. Soon as I'd found a safe place for Harry. But Snape got there first." With a distinct note of satisfaction, he added, "All they found left of him was a finger."

_Good. I hope it hurt_ , thought Remus. The sharp viciousness of the thought reminded him of the Wolf: for once, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Still, it was thoroughly odd to be thinking of Severus Snape with such a warm regard, odder still to see _Sirius_ doing it. Snape was a _Death Eater_ , even if he'd killed the damn rat.

"Not that I'm mourning Peter's death," said Remus ( _of course you are,_ his mind interjected, unwelcome. O _f course you would, how many nights have you lain awake wondering how the boy you grew up with could have possibly done such a thing? He loved James so much…_ ) "But didn't Snape kill rather a lot of Muggles in the process? He's still a murderer."

"Funny thing, that. C'mere." Remus found himself being half-hauled off the couch, and hastily shifted Harry's weight onto an arm as Sirius dragged them towards a door.

The room beyond was Sirius's bedroom, presumably, though it was a marked shift from the teenage boy lairs Remus was accustomed to. The chaotic disorder was familiar (though Sirius-past had favored empty pizza boxes over Sirius-current’s decomposing curry containers), and the brash color scheme was certainly in-character, but the usual rock band posters and Muggle bathing beauties had been replaced by… Remus wasn't quite sure what to make of the state of Sirius's walls.

"Where on earth did you even get a bulletin board that big?" he asked, weakly. “And why is it completely covered in newspaper clippings?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to mention the photographs, or the pushpins. Or the string.

"That's not important," said Sirius. He pulled Remus over towards one corner, and jabbed a finger aggressively at a carefully arrayed collection of photographs. "Moony, look at this. You see anything?"

_Well_ , thought Remus, staring at the collage in dislike. Unaffected by his anger, the piles of rubble and robed Aurors moved within; taken together, the photographs made a distinctly salacious picture. _Two of your friends are dead, one is dead and a traitor, and the other has gone completely mad in grief. Wonderful_. The abrupt emotional shifts of the last fifteen minutes were beginning to make him nauseous.

Despite his best efforts, he was unable to keep the anger out of his voice as he said, "Sirius, do you really suppose this is an appropriate time to be showing me some lewd art project? Think of Harry." The baby was staring intently at his godfather’s handiwork. Remus vaguely hoped he was too young to be warped by it.

Sirius looked unruffled: Remus hated him just a tiny bit. "Moony, do you remember that one curse James and I cooked up in fifth year?” Remus stared at him. "Look again."

Reluctantly, Remus looked back at Sirius's poor taste in modern artwork, and squinted at it. What in Merlin's name was Sirius talking about?

He recognized the street in the photographs; it was the same that had been featured in every Daily Prophet story about Severus Snape’s capture. None of the photos in the paper had given more than a limited glimpse of the destroyed roadway or damaged Muggle shops. But taken as a whole, the collage gave a fairly decent glimpse of what the entire destroyed street must have looked like. And when he looked at the scorch marks… 

_Huh._

"It wasn't Snape who killed those Muggles," said Sirius, triumphant. "It was Peter."

 

*****

It is at this point that Snape interjects. He is fascinated, despite himself. He'd sooner hear the tale from any other people on the planet, of course.

It's the first time he's spoken since Azkaban, and his voice is rusty with disuse. "The spell Pettigrew used. What was it?"

"Confringo Priapus," Black explains. "James and I cooked it up in Fifth Year. It's a modification on the Blasting Curse. You know how dangerous that is. We were trying to figure out how to make a version with a shield for the caster. But it had one other side effect…"

"If you squint, the impact area makes a rude picture," says Lupin, with a sigh.

"The soot looks like a dick," says Black, sounding horrifically pleased with himself. "Complete accident, believe it or not." Snape doubts that.

"That's why we could both recognize it for what it was, once Sirius got ahold of those photographs," Lupin explains. "One of the Muggle witnesses even heard the second part of the incantation, but the Aurors thought she was mistaken."

"The Prophet photographers must've had a bugger of a time getting a shot that would pass the print obscenity laws," oozes Black, obnoxiously smug.

"Typical," sneers Snape, who is in no mood to admit he's impressed. Had it been him, he would have refined the spell until it was less prurient. "And I suppose you never thought to share that with anyone outside your little band of reprobates."

Black and Lupin exchange glances. "James, Remus, and I all learned it," says Black. "But . . . Pettigrew . . . injured himself trying. A couple of times. Since the point of the experiment was to get a version of the Blasting Curse that was safer to use…" Black shrugs, evocatively. "We never tried to teach anyone else. I think we all sort of forgot about it, to be honest."

"Peter must have practiced without us knowing. For what he was planning to do with it, I suppose the second of shielding was precisely what he needed," growls Lupin. The harsh expression on his face doesn't last. The toddler--Lily's son--has scampered away from Black and is tugging on the werewolf's trousers. Lupin scoops him up with quick, practiced ease and starts fussing over him.

Black, Snape observes, is watching the child and domesticated werewolf with an obnoxious parody of parental affection. Snape wonders, not for the first time, if the whole ridiculous affair isn't an elaborate sick joke on the pair's part. He wouldn't put it beyond them.

Irritated, Snape demands, "So you figured out what spell Pettigrew cast. So what?"

Black glances at Lupin, who is still distracted with the child. After a moment, he shrugs and takes over.

 

*****

"Wherever did you get these photographs?" Moony's voice was faint, a little distant.

Sirius hesitated for a moment, a little embarrassed to admit the truth. "Talked Frank Longbottom into making me a copy of the Auror file. I, uh, might have said that Dumbledore asked for them."

Remus gave him a disapproving look. _Tread lightly there, Padfoot_ , Sirius reminded himself. _Moony always gets a bit funny when Dumbledore's honor is at stake._ Best to keep his friend from spending too much time thinking about it. And Moony was eyeing the rest of Sirius's bulletin board the same uneasy way he tended to eye unfamiliar animals. Best to get him out of the room altogether, really.

"C'mon. I'll get you a beer." Moony docilely allowed himself to be steered out the room and directed back towards Sirius's sofa. Sirius couldn't decide if he was relieved or nervous at his friend's silence.

By the time Sirius returned with the bottles, Remus had curled his lengthy frame up into a corner of the sofa. He was brooding: that much was obvious. Sirius supposed, with a sigh, that it was to be expected.

But there was one thing to be cheerful about. Remus had clearly arrayed himself with Harry's comfort in mind, and his godson was fast asleep, dark hair fanning out against Moony's sleeve. Despite the protests, Sirius _knew_ he was right in going to Remus for this. He'd been good with children even when they were children themselves, despite the constant claims of incompetent unfamiliarity. Had the temperament for it, Sirius supposed.

He handed his friend the beer. "Heh. Harry must like you. He usually doesn't get so comfortable with strangers. Well - I suppose you've met him before, though I don't know how recently..."  

"Not for months," Moony said, quietly. "He wouldn't remember me. He's grown a lot." He paused. "He must miss his parents."

_I do, too_ , Sirius thought. _And so do you. Why haven't you written me?_ "He has nightmares, I think. I don't know if they're always about, well. You know." He reached across the sofa to pat his godson's plump cheek. "He's not much of a talker yet."  

Remus did not respond, and they lapsed into a silence. For the hundredth time that day, Sirius desperately wished James was still alive. He loved Remus to death, of course he did, but they had never been simpatico the way he and James had been. Or James and Remus had been, for that matter. James had intuitively understood how to manage Remus, had been the one Remus confided in. Sirius had never quite learned the knack.

Sirius wondered, suddenly, whether Remus knew that he had been suspected of treason. That Sirius, specifically, had suspected him of treason. He wished he could just ask.

He couldn't, though. It was better to just move on. "So," he said, breaking the quiet, voice carefully casual. "About you looking after Harry."

Remus, frustratingly, did not immediately respond, instead directing his brooding down at the baby. Sirius fought the urge to shake him. Remus had always been the one who sat it out when he and James took some righteous retribution on Snape, so why was he being so hesitant _now_? And all Sirius wanted him to do was look after Harry for a week or two, which was a _perfect_ job for Remus. Sirius had even checked the calendar before making his request, to make sure there was a safe fortnight until full moon. And it would leave Sirius free to tackle Azkaban. (Not that Sirius didn't love having Harry to care for, of course he did, as awful as the circumstances were. He'd fought Dumbledore tooth and nail over it, hadn't he?)

Finally, Remus spoke. "Sirius, how _exactly_ are you planning to get Severus Snape out of Azkaban?"

"Swim over, break in, turn Snape into something small and portable, swim out," replied Sirius, promptly. "Maybe a beetle or something? I need to figure that part out."

Remus stared at him. "That's your plan?" He looked so disappointed. Sirius tried not to shrink in his seat. He hated when Remus looked disappointed. “Do you even know where Snape is within the prison? It’s hardly as if you can scope it out on a day tour.”

Sirius winced. “Well, no,” he conceded. “I’ll have to wing that. Padfoot should be able to sniff Snape out.”

"Not good enough,” said Remus, sharply. “Sirius, why don't you just go to Dumbledore? If you're so certain…"

"I _tried_ ," barked Sirius. He found that he had no taste for summarizing his conversation with Hogwarts' headmaster: Remus didn't need to know all of it. "He's… he's got a lot on his mind right now. He didn't really listen." _Well, he **didn't** , it's not really a lie_.

"He didn't? I… suppose I see why you don't want to go to him, then." Remus curled up further in the corner of the sofa, his face a careful blank. Sirius fought the urge to growl as another strained silence stretched out. This was really the worst thing about Remus, and Sirius had never understood _why_. Even when they were boys, you couldn't read him half the time. Even with Remus right in front of him, gently smoothing Harry's hair, there was a part of Sirius that still thought that they had to have been mistaken: that Remus was still the more logical candidate for the traitor than Peter. Peter had never been able to keep secrets, not from his friends. Remus was a curated collection of them.

Finally, Sirius couldn't stand it any longer. "Well, what do you want me to do?" he demanded. "Snape's only guilty of killing Peter, and that's not enough of a crime to merit _Azkaban_."

To his surprise, Remus promptly nodded. "I know." His quiet voice was unsparing. "Either of us would have killed him. I still don't understand why Peter did it, but he deserved what Snape did to him. Even more so if he killed those Muggles."

Sirius pounced, leaning forward to grab Remus by the arm. "Then you're willing to -"

"SIRIUS." It was rare to hear Remus raise his voice, and it was surprise as much as his friend's obvious fury that made Sirius rock back in his seat. Harry stirred in his sleep, troubled; Remus lowered his voice, but there was an unmistakable venom in his hushed tones. "Forget justice to Snape for a second--what about justice to _Harry_? Our dead best friend's orphaned son, and you'd leave him alone with nothing but a _werewolf_ to keep watch while you ramble off on some poorly plotted adventure?"

Were they really doing this? Sirius found himself inexplicably thrilled. Remus never yelled, not even when someone had done something to deserve it. Was a proper row suddenly in the cards? "A, your furry little problem isn’t going to pop up for a fortnight. It will be _fine_ , you're a bloody natural with kids. Harry trusts you already. B, you're as Gryffindor as I am, I know you, you can't tell me that it's not going to eat at you to know bloody _Snape_ is being punished for what _fucking Wormtail_ did -"

" _Sirius_." Remus's ragged nails were digging into his arm. Despite that, his voice was back to being level and composed. Sirius was a little disappointed. "Will you be quiet, please?" Reluctantly, Sirius nodded.

There was another strained silence. Finally, carefully, Remus asked, "You've well and truly made up your mind to do this, haven’t you? With or without any idea of what Azkaban might throw at you."

"Yes," Sirius admitted. "I'm sorry, Moony. I know it's mad, but I can't let this be."

"No," said Remus, grimly. "That's wrong. _We're_ not going to let this be. And I think I know how we make a map.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For M.M., who knows what they did.


End file.
